


WILD

by JennaSaisQuoi (ScarletTyler)



Series: Blue Neighbourhood [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, dom!thranduil, sub!Bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9550070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletTyler/pseuds/JennaSaisQuoi
Summary: All work and no play makes Bard a dull boy. In comes a beautiful stranger with a baggage full of his wildest fantasies. One night, just one night—that's all the stranger asks of him. Bard agrees and nothing will ever be the same again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 'Cause when you look like that  
> I've never ever wanted to be so bad, oh  
> It drives me wild
> 
> -[WILD](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3awzvNrKDsg) by Troye Sivan

With a long drawn-out sigh, Bard freed his hair from its unruly bun as he stood beside the baggage carousel. The strands felt damp between his fingers, so he ruffled them a bit before giving up altogether. What he needed was a hot shower to wash the grime and exhaustion off of him. Earlier, the plane had been delayed after everyone had gotten on board, trapping them for an extra half-hour with nothing but the stale, dry air of the cabin to keep them _comfortable_. When they landed, all Bard could think of was how much he hated going on trips like this. It's good for the business, but _god_ , at what cost?

Luggage after luggage, he kept his eyes trained on the revolving belt. The rhythmic thump of the machine, however, was lulling him to fall asleep on his feet. Countless number of slow blinks and a huge yawn later, he spotted his black bag with the green trimming hedged between two oversized shoulder bags. He made a grab for it and let it fall down the floor with a soft thunk. _Wait_. It seemed heavier than he remembered and—  _'Something's buzzing inside.'_

Every bit of drowsiness drained out of him in an instant. Visions of fire and chaos flashed before his eyes. Whirling around, he was about to call for help when someone tapped him on the shoulder, making his heart jump up to his throat. 

"Easy." 

Hair whipping him on the cheek, Bard turned and faced the stranger. The first thing that struck him was a pair of crystal blue eyes, crinkling around the corners. Their owner—a tall man or rather, a giant to be more exact—smiled back at him. The color swirled in his mind, calming him down while clouding the rest of his thoughts. Each framed by impressive dark eyebrows, those eyes had caught him off guard. He couldn't look away. Intense and beautiful.  _'How could anyone ever look away?'_

"I think you've got my bag," the stranger said, nodding at the bag beside Bard. He then gestured to the other black bag at his feet. Bard didn't know how he managed to tear his gaze away from the man, but only then did he recognize the slightly darker trim on its side. "Bard Bowman? Is that you?"

"Yeah," answered Bard, nearly out of breath. This time, his attention was caught by the cascade of silky blond hair, not one strand out of its place. His fingers itched, wanting to touch it and see if it would feel as lovely as it looked. _'Stop it.'_  Shaking his head, he forced himself back to reality. "Sorry, I uhmm. . . " He bit his lower lip and pointed at the bag. "Something's vibrating inside."

The smile transformed into a smirk. "So, that's what put you on edge." His gaze grew brighter like the thought amused him to no end. "Not a bomb, I promise."

A terrorist would say that, Bard countered in his head. He narrowed his eyes and dragged it up and down the man before him. The tight gray suit—most probably custom-fitted—and elegant brown oxfords nearly wiped away his every suspicion, but still. "What's in it, then?"

"You really want to know?" asked the stranger, his left eyebrow quirking up.

Bard squared his shoulder, trying hard not to stare again. "I think it's my duty as a concerned citizen."

"Fine," the stranger agreed. He cocked his head towards the far corner of the room, where a row of red plastic chairs stood empty. "Remember, you asked."

Towing their almost identical bags, they made their way to the seats without another word. The blond man hoisted the buzzing one up and laid it across the armrests. After glancing over his shoulder, certain that no one but Bard was near enough to see the contents, he unzipped the bag and flipped the top open.

Bard swallowed hard, speechless. The scent of leather drifted up to his nose while his wide eyes took in _everything_. Neatly organized inside the suitcase were various sex toys and bondage gear. Loops of rope in various colors, lengths of silk ribbon, blindfolds, handcuffs, leather paddles, a riding crop—everything he had only seen before in those kinky porn videos he had watched out of sheer curiosity. Everything, including the culprit responsible for this impromptu bag search.

Long fingers plucked out the silver vibrator from its nest. The man held it in his left hand while his right turned the base. The buzzing stopped. And so did Bard's breathing. The sight of the man's hand wrapped around the shiny sex toy was doing all sorts of naughty things to him. He could feel an electric current running just beneath his skin. His stomach was tied up in knots, and when he looked up and met the man's knowing gaze, his cock twitched between his legs. He tried to swallow again, but his throat felt utterly dry.

"And to think you were going to call security," the stranger said with a teasing grin.

Bard managed a soft laugh. "Well. . ." He trailed off and licked his lips out of self-consciousness. The stranger's gaze followed his every move. Bard buckled under the weight of his stare. Looking down at the toys again, he mumbled, "Uhmm. . . all of these are yours?" 

"Yes," the man said in a low voice, sliding the vibrator back to its container.

Nodding his head, Bard couldn't help but ask, "D'you use them?"

Those pale blue orbs were nearly black when their gazes met again. Instead of answering right away, the stranger pulled a length of black silk, letting it unravel slowly, sliding it through one hand before stretching it tight between both hands. Air was starting to become an issue for Bard. "Not only do I use them," the blond man answered, "I also teach others how to safely do so. That's why I'm here. I get paid to travel around and give demonstrations. And yes, I enjoy them in my spare time, too." He paused, tilting his head a bit to the side. "Why are you here, _Bard Bowman_?"

That voice should come with a warning, Bard thought for hearing his name uttered by that mouth had turned his knees weak. "Business convention. For my grandfather's company," he croaked back. "Tomorrow."

The stranger nodded his head, almost imperceptible, but Bard's full attention was on him. Seeking permission through his intense gaze, he took Bard's hand, held it palm up and ran the silk across its plane. The gentle, smooth rasp of the fabric made Bard flutter his eyes shut. Then, he felt the silk being wrapped around his wrist, tightening for just a sec, before it loosened up and whispered its way back to its owner. It left Bard aching for more. When he opened his eyes again, the blond man was staring at him with unabashed interest. 

"Come with me." 

"What?" asked Bard, still disoriented from his little trick.

Stepping closer, invading his space, the stranger ran his fingers along Bard's jaw and pushed a lock of hair behind the ear. "Come with me to my hotel room," he elaborated, his voice dipping even lower than what was legal. "Spend the night with me." Deliberate in his pace, he leaned in and his breath tickled the shell of Bard's ear. "Give yourself to me tonight."

It's a lame pick-up line, but coming from him, Bard felt a needy, coiling sensation deep in his belly. A part of him could tell the stranger had meant every word, but— _'This is madness.'_ He should just grab his bag—the right one this time—and get the hell away from this perv. Except. . . this man wasn't one of those dime-a-dozen perv. No, he's the real deal.

All the more reason for Bard to leave, then. Because he had never met sexy strangers with the perfect hair in an airport before. He had never agreed to have kinky sex with anyone on a whim before. Never. 

The stranger pulled back a bit and regarded him with nothing less than a potent invitation. This close, Bard found himself getting lost again in his gaze. He had never done any of this before, but this man was making him want to throw caution to the wind. _'And it's working so well, dammit.'_ Now, Bard could only think of how much he wanted this man to show him something more than the life he knew.

And so, he found himself nodding before he could think any better of it. The stranger smiled again.

"Follow me," the blond man said, one hand on his bag, the other offered to Bard.

Lacing their fingers together, they walked hand-in-hand out of the claiming area, pulling along their baggages behind them. Outside, to Bard's amazement, a black limousine was waiting for the stranger. The driver took care of their belongings as they climbed inside the plush interiors of the sleek vehicle. As they pulled away from the airport, the man took both of Bard's hands in his, stroking the backs with his thumbs. "Trust me," he said, a firm yet gentle request. "Just for tonight. And if anything becomes too much at anytime, just say 'red'. It's simple, but in the heat of the moment, you might forget a more complicated word. Red means stop, understood?"

His manner wasn't rooted on condescension, Bard could tell. This man was making sure Bard knew he had a way out. This man knew what he was doing. He wasn't interested in hurting anyone. "Yes," Bard said, feeling more at ease with his decision.

From the man's pocket, he pulled out again the length of black silk. Bard didn't even bother to slow down his racing heart when it was wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

"Do you have any question before we begin?"

"Just one." Excitement was thrumming under his skin, inside his veins. "What's your name?"

It took him a moment, but when the stranger spoke again, it was everything Bard wanted to hear.

"I am your King."


	2. Chapter 2

In the darkness, Bard could hear the limousine purring its way through the city. To his side, the stranger— _no, the King_ —was sitting so close to him that he could practically feel the heat radiating between them. So close, and yet there had been no touch exchanged again, not even a brush of fabric against his bare skin.

"Do not speak unless I ask you a direct question."

Startling at the sudden command, Bard nodded his head without a word.

"Have you ever done anything like this before?"

"No," replied Bard, only to add a second later, "my King."

"And yet, you know how to address me properly." Bard could hear the smile in his voice. "Curious then, are you?"

Heat bloomed around his cheeks, no doubt staining them pink. "I've. . . watched a couple of videos from the Internet."

"Hardly the best material out there," dismissed the King. "What I will give you tonight is the real experience, except. . ." He trailed off and dissolved into silence again. Bard strained his ears, waiting for the man to continue.  "A real experience doesn't often include sex unless there is a relationship involved. I plan on making an exception with you. Do you find this agreeable?"

The heat on Bard's face began to spread like wild fire down to his chest and into his belly. He nodded. "Yes, my King." He liked how his opinion still mattered—or rather, his consent. Since they barely know anything about each other, these little questions reminded him that he was in good hands.

"However," the King went on, "I shall expect more from you since you have done your share of research." Bard couldn't help but smile at the teasing lilt at the end. Then, the King dropped his tone again, sending shivers down his spine. "You will be punished if I had to repeat myself. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my King," Bard said, almost breathless from anticipation.

"Angle yourself away from me. Hands on your sides."

Bard did as he was told, moving his limbs to rest on either side of his hips. He jumped a bit when long fingers curled over his shoulders and eased him until he was leaning against something warm and solid—the King's chest. The sensual scent of sandalwood mixed with something indefinable grew stronger, headier. Then, he felt hands trailing down his arms and back up. A slow and gentle dance that left him craving for more.

"Tonight, you are not Bard Bowman, who works for his grandfather's company," declared the King, his voice smooth and hypnotic. "Tonight, you will give me your everything. Your worries, your responsibilities, your wants, your needs, even your name. From this moment, all of you belongs to me. You own nothing that I do not give to you, and anything I give to you, whether it is pleasure or pain, is a gift. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my King." Bard might have agreed to just about anything right then, with the heated breath tickling his ear and a pair of hands lulling him into complaisance. Everything was heightened in the darkness. Every little touch, every single word. The thought of not needing to worry about anything, of leaving everything up to him, was exhilarating. It didn't sound like submission. It sounded like. . . freedom. Complete and utter freedom.

"You are doing well, _my pet_ ," the King said, suddenly sounding warm and indulgent. Bard bit his lip when a laughter rumbled from his chest. "Are you amused by the name I have given you?"

It was a simple question, and yet it managed to wipe away the giddiness lingering in his mouth. "Just a bit, my King."

"But it is my gift to you," the King replied, his hands stilling around Bard's wrists. "A punishment is in order for your lack of appreciation. However, since most of my tools are currently out of reach, I will have to improvise. Keep your hands where they are."

Bard's breathing hitched when a hand slid underneath his shirt, tracing the tendrils of soft hair from his stomach up to his chest. His whole body trembled. They had barely touched and already, goosebumps were breaking out all over him. When his nipples peaked, the King rolled them between his fingers and pinched, hard, before tugging them up with no mercy.

Gasping, Bard arched his back but did nothing else to stop the sharp sensation. It hurt, of course, but it also sent tingles straight to his groin. The King released his straining buds and caressed his chest, soothing and gentle—only to switch back to pain on his next breath. Bard cried out during the sixth round, though he immediately stifled it, sinking his teeth on his lower lip. Surely, the privacy screen was up, but it meant nothing to his desperate moans.

The King thought otherwise. "Don't. I want to hear you. I want to learn the noises you make." He pressed a light kiss on the side of Bard's neck. "Are you hard now?"

Another pinch, another moan. "Y-yes, my King."

"How hard?"

His pants felt tighter, but Bard wasn't sure how to answer at this point. All he could care about were his nipples, both stinging from abuse. "I, ahhh. . ."

"Undo your jeans, wrap a hand around your cock, and find out."

Bard tried to obey as quickly as he could, but his fingers—clumsy and damp with sweat—wouldn't let him. The King didn't scold him, however, and for that, he was grateful. Right now, he couldn't promise perfection even if his very life depended on it. Fumbling his way inside his pants, Bard moaned when he discovered his leaking cock. He was more aroused than he thought.

"Well?"

"Painfully hard, my King." He was about to let go, but the King grabbed his wrist, keeping him in place. Without another word, his hand was guided up and down his length, pumping, while the sweet torture on his chest commenced once more.

Through his mouth, Bard panted like an animal in heat. He woke up this morning, thinking this would just be another boring day alone in his hotel room. Not even in his wildest fantasies did he imagine himself being fucked with his own hand by a stranger in the back of a limo. Keening and writhing, it astonished him how much he was enjoying the moment.

"Don't come without my permission," the King hissed, sending a hot breath across his cheek. Another surge of pre-cum coated his palm. "Remember, I control your pleasure. Your orgasms belong to me." 

Bard whimpered as the King dragged his hand out of his pants, making sure his fingers brushed over the tip of his cock in the process. The next thing he knew, his arm was being stretched up behind his head, and without warning, a hot, wet mouth enveloped his fingers, inching them further inside with languid ease. The King's tongue was a revelation, instantly bringing forth fantasies of him using it elsewhere, everywhere. Licking, sucking, nipping. He hummed as his sinful tongue swirled around the digits. "Such a lovely taste," he murmured, tucking Bard's hand back to his side.

With his muscles all tensed up, Bard felt wound up like a spring. He really wanted the King to get him off, but he couldn't ask for it. He had to trust this man would take care of his needs in due time. Besides, he knew from experience that the longer he put it off. . . the better it would be. _'Especially if it isn't just my hand.'_   Wondering if the King was just as affected as he was, he breathed in and out, deep and long, calming himself down.

"Well done, my pet," the King praised him with another kiss to his neck. "Keep going this way, and I doubt I will have to punish you again." Nuzzling him by the ear, the King's arms reached around his middle, zipped up and buttoned his jeans before smoothing down his shirt. "We're almost at the hotel. I shall remove your blindfold for now. We will continue once we're in my room. Until then, you're free to speak." When Bard nodded, the King helped him to sit up and get settled back to his side of the leather seat. A kiss to the lips immediately followed, surprising Bard yet again. Light and breathy, it fleeted away as quickly as it came. The King pulled away and so did the blindfold. Bard blinked at the sudden brightness, realizing the man must have undone the knot during their kiss.

The King smiled, and Bard was struck once again by the man's exquisite features. Light was dancing in his eyes, making them shine like an icy lake under a full moon. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Bard. My name is Thranduil. Thranduil Lasgalen."

"The pleasure's all mine," Bard breathed out, feeling inordinately proud of his sudden burst of cheek.

Thranduil smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners like when they first met. The limo came to a stop, just then, in front of a posh hotel. _'Of course, where else would the King stay in the city that never sleeps?'_ Alighting from the vehicle, Thranduil offered his hand again, and though Bard accepted it without hesitation, he felt his body prickle at this rather innocent gesture. Now that he had an idea what this hand can do to him, he couldn't shake off the electricity buzzing under his skin.

He prayed the elevators here were fast enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Bard spent a good minute glaring at the loose thread hanging from the bottom of his shirt before yanking the damn thing off. He's not a slob, really, but right now, he looked like a hobo compared to everyone else in this hotel. _'Stop it.'_ Soon, he would be several floors up anyway, arms tied up to a bedpost or maybe on his knees begging to be fucked. For now, he had been told to stay put as Thranduil collected the key card and handed over their bags to the bellhop. After everything was sorted out, the man surprised him once again when, instead of heading straight to the elevators, Bard found himself being steered to the opposite direction. "Uhmm. . . we're not going up?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

"So eager," Thranduil nearly purred with a pleased grin. "We will, eventually, but first, I'd like to spend time getting to know you before playing with _my pet_." He punctuated this with a squeeze of their hands, earning him another round of flushed cheeks. Bard didn't know what else to say back other than a faint 'oh' under his breath.

At the end of the lobby was a restaurant with a chic air about it. The maitre d' greeted Thranduil by name, which flared up a tiny spark of irrational jealousy in Bard. _'Then again, with a face like that, who could really blame her?'_ They were ushered in to a table for two at an intimate corner of the room, isolated from the other guests. He thought Thranduil would order for the both of them, but the man only suggested a number of his favorite items—all vegan, Bard noted. For drinks, Thranduil asked him not to order anything with alcohol in it. "Why not?" asked Bard, his eyes skimming over the list of entrées.

"It's highly discouraged when engaging in play. Alcohol inhibits the senses, makes it more difficult for either of us to tell if things are getting too intense. In fact, you will rarely see such drinks being served in clubs of that nature."

Bard admired Thranduil's ability to talk about the subject in public without letting on what he is referring to. A professional, through and through. Their waiter came by then and took their orders. Both of them asked for sparkling water. When they were alone again, he immediately picked up where they left off. "Rarely? So, it does happen?"

"Rarely," Thranduil repeated. "The clubs that do are very exclusive and have a low maximum drink allowance. Two, at most. And you won't be allowed to purchase even a glass of wine until you're an established member."

All through this explanation, Bard was pushing to the back of his mind the image of a leather-clad Thranduil in his _natural_ environment. "You really know a lot, huh?" 

Thranduil grinned. "It's my business to know. I get asked all sorts of questions."

"What's the weirdest one you've ever been asked?" Bard inquired before realizing a possible gaffe. "Only if you're allowed to disclose that. I dunno if you've got an NDA or something."

Thranduil grinned again, making Bard wonder if he would ever get to hear him laugh. _'Probably not. This man's all about control, control, control.'_

"Well, as long as I don't drop any names. . ." Tapping a finger to his chin, Thranduil considered the question for a moment. "There's this one recently, something about the best brand of balloons to buy."

Bard blinked. _'Condoms?'_ It didn't seem like it though. "Balloons?"

Leaning closer, Thranduil lowered his voice and elaborated, "There are people who enjoy having sex with balloons attached to their bodies. Something about the sound when they rub together and the excitement of popping them when things get heated." He shrugged his shoulders as he straightened up again. "I'm not in the position to judge. The world is far stranger than anyone could ever imagine."

"Did you try it yourself?"

"For science," Thranduil quipped, eliciting a chuckle from Bard. "You could say I'm pretty hands-on with my research. I'm brilliant at what I do, but I don't know everything."

"Should I be expecting some balloons later, then?" It was supposed to be lighthearted, but Thranduil looked back at him with hooded eyes. The butterflies in his stomach appreciated it a bit too much.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Thranduil teased before reaching out a hand across the table, palm up. Bard placed a hand over his without hesitation. Stroking the back with his thumb in slow circles, his gaze never wavering, Thranduil asked, "Tell me, _Bard_ , what made you so interested in what I have to offer?"

"It's, uh. . ." Bard trailed off, forcing his brain to think past the maddening brush of their skin. "It's something I've never done before."

"Never?" echoed Thranduil, his impressive eyebrow quirking up. "Never said to anyone 'wouldn't it be fun to tie me up?'"

"That, I've done before. Discussed it, even," replied Bard, "but my ex just wasn't into it."

"Such a pity. Still, you tried." Thranduil's expression shifted again into something that makes Bard's insides twist in delicious anticipation. "What made you think it's something you'd want for yourself, then?"

"Uhmm. . . I think of it as some form of escape," Bard answered after a moment's thought. "Of course, I know I'm not the only one weighed down by responsibilities and expectations, but sometimes it could get a bit too much. D'you know that one of my ancestors had allegedly slain a dragon? That's where the 'Bowman' originated. My family's so proud of it, we've even got this big tapestry displayed at work, like some giant reminder for everyone to live up to that legend." He paused, realizing he was just rambling at this point. Thranduil didn't seem to mind though; he did say he wanted to get to know Bard. "Anyway, I've always put my back into everything I do, but there were times when I'd imagine what it would it be like to get away from everything, even for just a bit. Don't get me wrong. I love my family more than anything. It's just that I want to feel what it's like to be. . . unburdened." Grinning sheepishly, he asked, "D'you get what I mean?"

"I do. In fact, it's almost the standard response you'd get from people who engage in this. I can certainly give you a taste of freedom tonight." Thranduil winked, his blue eyes twinkling with promises. "Truth be told, it's a relief to know I've made the right call. There's this. . . _fascination_ in you that I just couldn't ignore."

"You mean you don't normally cruise the baggage claim for a willing arse?" Bard asked in jest.

Finally— _finally!—_ Thranduil laughed, though it's nothing like a guffaw or anything raucous. More like a gentle rumble from somewhere in his throat. Delighted nonetheless, Bard committed the sound to memory, just in case he wouldn't get to hear it again soon. "No, that was a first. Many won't play with the inexperienced, but I like it. I enjoy showing people a different side of themselves." Thranduil then lifted Bard's hand to his lips. "And it helps that you're gorgeous as well."

"Said the most stunning man I've ever known," Bard added without missing a beat, the tips of his ears heating up from the compliment.

"What made you say yes?" asked Thranduil, laying their hands down the table again with a tiny, almost smug, grin playing on his pale lips. "Besides the fact that you've been wanting to give this a try. We are strangers, after all. Not many people would do that."

Bard shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not sure. I did hesitate for a bit though." Smirking, he added, "Maybe you just have one of those faces that inspire trust."

"I know people who would say otherwise," Thranduil countered in a rather uncharacteristically self-deprecating manner. "There's got to be a better reason than that."

"I dunno, really!" Bard chuckled though it tapered quickly into a sigh. "Something about how you talked about it and. . ." He pursed his lips. "I dunno, you're going to think I'm weird."

"Maybe," Thranduil teased. "Maybe not. Remember, I've heard it all."

Just then, the waiter came by their table again, bringing along their appetizers. It gave Bard time to collect his wits. Thranduil didn't touch his food yet, still holding on to Bard's hand. His expression was set on getting a satisfactory answer. Bard nodded, relenting to the silent command. "It was your hands. Watching you with that silk. . ." His cock stirred at the memory, his nipples hardening with just a touch of soreness from earlier. Wriggling his hand free, he traced the lines on Thranduil's palm with the tip of his finger. "They looked so natural, so confident. . . elegant. Somehow I could tell, just with that one move, that you know what you're doing."

Narrowing his eyes, Thranduil began to radiate the intensity Bard had been badly craving for since they left the limo. "Careful, _Bard_ ," he warned in a low tone reminiscent of the King's. "You're making me want to skip dinner and go right to dessert." Lacing their fingers together again, he added softly, "But as much as I want to, I can't. You're going to need your strength."

Bard dropped his gaze to the elaborate centerpiece between them, biting his lip around a smile. Looking up through his eyelashes, he said, "I suppose I should try to behave myself, then."

"Do whatever feels natural. It's all up to you. For now, that is." Grin turning wicked, the fine line separating Thranduil and the King continued to blur before his eyes. "Just be prepared for the consequences."

Sporting yet another hard-on, Bard twisted on his seat in an attempt to hide it from unsuspecting eyes. He then reached for his glass of water, grateful that, at least, he still had something to quench his thirst right away.


	4. Chapter 4

During the course of their dinner, they engaged in what Thranduil referred to as negotiation. Though it was painfully detailed and embarrassing at times, Bard realized eventually that it was necessary for the very act of agreeing to this had placed a tremendous responsibility on Thranduil.

Would Bard enjoy being bound, gagged and spanked?

Or would he prefer to be whipped instead?

What about toys?

Choking?

It went on and on and on until at last Thranduil offered—no, _decided_ —to foot the bill and leave the restaurant. Inside the elevator, Bard shifted from one foot to the other, filled with energy and giddiness he couldn't seem to tamp down. Thranduil grinned at his reflection. "Nervous?"

"Yeah, but more excited, I think."

"That's good to hear. I like that," Thranduil said, nodding. The elevator pinged, and they made their way down the hall. "I have some prep work to do when we go inside. Head first to the en suite, and do whatever you feel is necessary." He then lowered his voice to a whisper. "I learned the hard way once after putting someone in a complicated rope tie. Never a good time to discover they need to go to the loo." Bard snorted, picturing the scene in his head. "Had to cut her down," Thranduil added with a slight pout on his lips. "Brand new rope, too."

They came to a stop before a room labeled with an ornate  **1508** on its door. When Thranduil took the key card out of his pocket, Bard laid a hand on his sleeve. "Before we go in, I just want you to know that. . ." The tips of his ears heated up, making him pause. _'Don't make this bloody awkward!'_  Just keep it casual, he reminded himself. "I'm glad we picked the wrong bags."

Thranduil's expression softened unexpectedly, and something inside Bard melted at the sight. "Likewise," he spoke in a hushed tone before shifting to teasing again, "You're too sweet for your own good, Bard Bowman." He then unlocked the door and ushered Bard inside first, touching the small of his back. Heart thumping in his chest, Bard could feel the warmth from his fingers through the thin cotton of his shirt. 

With its green and brown accents, the interior of the suite appeared cozy and soothing—a jarring incompatibility with their agenda for tonight. Their suitcases were set side by side in the sitting area, which led to a balcony overlooking the park across the street. A king-sized bed beckoned at him with its army of fluffy, down pillows and thousand-thread count sheets.

Bard tried his best to ignore it in favor of heeding Thranduil's advice. Going about his own preparations inside the en suite, he listened to Thranduil's footsteps, muffled by the carpeting. In his head, he pictured quick hands working in sure, efficient movements that came with practice. Bags were being unzipped; curtains were being drawn. Something heavy clacked outside, rousing the butterflies in his belly. 

As he stood before the tall mirror, cursing himself for not shaving this morning, a faint melody found its way inside the en suite. It wasn't from any artist he had ever heard. No lyrics, too. Just a strong, pulsing drum beat that made his heart thud in time with its rhythm. 

 _'Should I strip naked now?'_ Perching on the edge of the huge spa-like tub, Bard then remembered how specific every instruction had been, and none of them involved removing his clothes. Thranduil might want to do that himself, Bard surmised, heating up all over at the scene his imagination had conjured. He rubbed his palms over his face and into his hair, which still refused to be tamed into something presentable. _'It's now or never.'_

When Bard opened the door, his gaze zeroed in on Thranduil standing beside the large wooden dresser. His feet were bare; his stance, confident. He had removed his jacket and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing a pair of lean, smooth forearms. His hands moved from the pocket of his trousers to his navy blue tie, sliding the length of it between his fingers. Slowly, he untied the knot, staring at Bard the whole time. Bard swallowed, his throat drying up again, when the tie rasped along the collar as Thranduil pulled it free.

Turning his attention to the dresser, Thranduil traded the tie for a collar made of black leather with a silver O-ring at its center. "Come here," he ordered in that low voice that sent tingles down Bard's spine. Bard walked forward at once and stood in front of him. "When this goes on, we start the scene. What's the safeword?"

"Red."

"Very good." Thranduil almost glided his way behind Bard, their skin barely brushing against one another, teasing with every step. "Move your hair aside."

Bard did as he was told, his hands shaking a bit from anticipation.

Thranduil eased the collar around his neck and fastened the buckle. After one final tug to check the fit, he laid his hands on Bard's shoulders and closed the small distance between them. Bard's eyes fluttered shut as he felt the man's cock, demanding to be freed, at the small of his back. Soft lips grazed across his nape, kissing the sensitive spot below his ear. He shivered and let his hair fall when the man stepped away from him. 

"Remove your shoes," ordered Thranduil—no, _the King_. Bard would do well to remember that distinction. After all, this wasn't a run-of-the-mill hookup with some bloke he met at the pub. This was an exhibition of trust between two relative strangers, just as much as a test on how far he could push past his personal limits. All in the name of pleasure, of course.

Unlacing his boots, Bard slid off his socks and balled them inside. The King kicked them aside, and they tumbled over to the wall in a messy heap. Standing in front of Bard again, he continued, "Take off your clothes. Shirt first."

Pulling the shirt over his head, Bard crumpled it in his hands and held his breath for the next order. The King cocked his head to where the boots were, so he tossed the shirt to that direction without question.

"Jeans next."

Like before, Bard's fingers fumbled with the button, but it soon joined the rest of his clothes. Silently, he thanked his lucky stars for making him wear his good underwear today.

There was an approval in the King's hooded gaze as he took in the sight before him. "Gorgeous," he affirmed once more, eliciting another round of flushed cheeks from Bard. With a hand to the small of his back, the King then guided him until he was facing the bed, standing at its foot. Dark red sheets had been thrown over the duvet, giving an impression like someone had spilled wine all over it. His fingers itched to discover its secrets for himself.

"Lean forward and brace your hands on the footboard."

Bard grabbed hold of the wooden slats, his knuckles turning white from his grip. The King stepped away from him and returned a few seconds later with two lengths of silk. His jaw clenched as he watched his wrists being bound with an elaborate knot to the footboard.

"Don't let go until I say so." Without waiting for a response, the King moved out of his line of sight and stood behind him. With bated breath, Bard waited for his next move.

Slow and torturous, the King hooked his fingers into the waistband and crouched down, dragging it along with him. Warm breath ghosted across Bard's already heated skin as the King lifted each foot, one after the other.

Bent over and completely exposed, Bard was amazed how he felt so much at ease right now. His cock twitched at the sound of a plastic lid being popped open. He knew what this meant, but his heart still jumped out of his chest when a cool, slick finger teased around his entrance. Eyes shut, he arched his back and spread his legs further apart as the King slip inside his clenching heat. And though he knew better, his body betrayed him and pushed back, already craving for more. 

"Patience, my pet," the King murmured with a light slap to Bard's arse. Pressing in deeper, he tapped a finger right on the spot that could reduce anyone to a quivering mess.

Lips parting in a silent moan, Bard let the sensation wash over him as the King slid in and out of him. It's a little too slow for his liking, but still his body begged him to rock along with the rhythm. When another finger joined in, he bit his lip to stop a spew of curses from spilling out. It was all for naught, however, when the King smacked his arse again, harder, drawing out a sharp hiss of surprise.

"What did I tell you?" demanded the King, his fingers suddenly coming to a halt.

Bard couldn't think fast enough to save himself, but instead of another slap, the King crooked his fingers and began kneading the sensitive spot in tight circles. Blanking out from the assault to his senses, Bard moaned and twitched for god knows how long until, finally, the answer clicked in his head. "Y-you want to—ahhh. . . hear me, my—" Bard swallowed a sob, overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure rippling across his body. "M-my King," he finished with a shaky breath.

As soon as the words fell from his lips, the King pulled out his fingers and got up on his feet again. Bard sighed—out of relief or disappointment, he wasn't quite sure at this point. There must be another punishment coming for him, he realized as his lungs worked in overdrive. Sure enough, he gasped out, embarrassingly loud to his own ears, when a toy slid inside him. At first, he couldn't tell what it was. Too soft to be a vibrator, but not the right shape to be anything else.

The King appeared to his side, holding up a small remote control in his hand. When he pressed a button, the toy expanded a bit, effectively keeping it inside Bard without him having to hold it there. "Remember," he said, "you cannot come without my permission." With another press, the toy began pulsing inside, right where his fingers were moments ago. Groaning in pleasure, Bard had no idea how he was going to follow the command.

Down his pocket, the King slid the remote while walking back to the dresser. A medley of mewls and whimpers later, he returned to his spot, holding a paddle similar to the one used in table tennis except the handle was flat like the rest of it. With his free hand, he massaged Bard's arse as the toy continued to throb inside. "You have the most inviting arse," he breathed, low and sultry again. "The perfect shape and size, but it needs more color. Pink will do nicely, don't you think so, my pet?"

Covered in smooth leather, the paddle brushed across the slopes of Bard's arse, leaving a burning trail of suspense in its wake. "Yes, my King," he answered over the sound of his thundering heartbeats.

It started out with light taps, a bit faster than the tempo of the music. First, one cheek, then the other, gradually increasing in strength. Bard's skin began to sting and then tingle with every beat. When the music soared, the paddling slowed down, matching the beat of the drum. Harder and harder, but ever so slightly; pain and pleasure were blending together into an intoxicating brew. Bard could feel it flow inside his veins as flames licked his arse. His cries were no longer from the impact. "C-can I come, my King?" he begged, painfully close to the edge.

"No."

The sharp refusal kept Bard from falling, but just barely. The paddling ceased at once too, and a moment later, the toy stopped and contracted inside him. The King, wasting no time, slid it out of him with an obscene, wet pop. Bard bit back a whine of disappointment, reminding himself that the man knew what he was doing.

With a single tug at the end of each knotted silk, both his arms were set free. The King grabbed hold of his hands and examined the nails for signs of poor circulation. Satisfied that Bard was all right, he issued his next order. "Lie down on your front."

Still weak around the knees, Bard obeyed his command immediately though he kept his eyes trained on the King's form. Cool and refreshing, the red sheets felt divine against his flushed skin. 

From the dresser, the King picked up a black leather flogger, stunning Bard but not for long. A blindfold was fitted over his eyes upon the King's return, and in the darkness, his heart had never sounded this deafening before. 

"Put your hands at your sides and widen your legs."

When Bard did as he was told, the King joined him on the bed, kneeling between his thighs. Feeling the soft caress of the thin leather straps over his limbs, a trickle of excitement found its way to his stiff cock. Then, the flogger brushed over his arse, along his spine, up to his neck, and then across each shoulder. It's oddly soothing, Bard thought as it whispered its way down his back again. In a gentler tone, the King said, "Use the safeword if you feel anything other than pleasure. If you feel fear or if you want me to stop, just say it and the scene ends. Understood?"

Pulled back to reality, Bard nodded his head, only to jump out of his skin when the leather snapped like a whip from behind him.

"How are you to address me,  _pet?"_ growled the King.

"Yes, my King!" Bard amended at once. There was another snap, but this time, it connected to both cheeks of his arse. He yelped out as the sting quickly transformed into heat, prickly and electrifying.

"There's that shade I've been wanting to see," the King crowed as another lash fell.

Fists clenching on his sides, Bard buried his face down the pillow as the next one came and then the next, still gloriously in time with the music. The whips grew stronger, dragging him towards this new experience. The initial shock wore off, and Bard reached an epiphany: the more he got flogged, the better it felt. Heat spread all over his body and his mind floated away from the here and now, wandering into a weightless atmosphere where pain didn't exist, where time didn't exist, where even he didn't exist. It was as if he were hovering high above his own body. 

The lashes fell on his shoulders, his back, his arse, his thighs, always shifting to another area and never striking the same one. He had long lost track of how much time had passed. The King was hitting him harder, but he couldn't even feel it. It was like. . . being aware of the pain from a safe distance. He didn't even know if it had stopped. All he could hear was his rhythmic moaning as he drifted along in blissful abandon.

The King climbed off the bed and was gone for a while, but it could have been just seconds. Then, the bed shifted again, signaling the King's return. The next thing he knew, he was being maneuvered between those long, long arms, where he laid limp and still for god knows how long. When he regained control of his limbs, his arms crept up the King's shirt, savoring the heat seeping through the fabric. He only noticed the blindfold was gone when he nuzzled the man's chest, drenched in sweat just as he was. The music had also stopped, and there was steam coming into the room from the en suite. He took a long, shuddering breath. "Thank you," he whispered, "my King." He didn't understand what had just happened to him, but it felt like the right thing to say anyway. 

On his forehead, the King pressed a kiss, grinning. He then slowly sat up, laying Bard on his back in the process.

Bard gasped out when his tender skin made contact with the sheets. He liked it though for it was a souvenir from his first foray into submission. Deft fingers trailed up his arms before they were lifted up to the spokes of the headboard. 

"Hold on," the King ordered, "and don't let go." His hands worked their magic again, binding Bard and the bed with another complicated silky knot. Slithering off of Bard, he straightened up and stood beside the bed, his dark gaze never wavering for even a moment. Long fingers undid the buttons of his dress shirt, revealing a white vest, which he also removed, leaving him bare-chested. Lean and defined, just like how Bard imagined him to be, his every movement was imbued with undeniable power simmering under the veneer of effortless grace. After retrieving a foil packet from the pocket of his trousers, he removed them too, along with his briefs, and dropped everything on the floor with an air of nonchalance. Gloriously naked at last, he positioned himself between the splayed thighs, both aching for his touch.

Bard couldn't help but curse under his breath when he got a closer view of the King's impressive cock, beautiful and proud like the man himself. His mouth watered as he watched the King tore open the wrapper and grit his teeth as the rubber rolled down his length. Bard would give anything, do anything, just so he could show reverence to the King with his lips and tongue and maybe even his throat. _'Later, definitely later. Even if I have to beg down on my knees for it.'_

However, instead of taking him right away, the King laid down on his stomach and pushed Bard's thighs up to his chest. One searing lick at his entrance had Bard tossing his head up, losing himself to this delicious sensation. Toes curling under with each brush of their flesh, he sucked in a breath when the King's tongue dipped inside him, teasing him, opening him up once more. All too soon, however, it was replaced by fingers slick with lube as the King's mouth hiked up to the balls, cradling each on his tongue. Unsteady from this exhilarating dance, Bard could already feel it coming when the King's attention turned to his leaking cock. From the start, he knew that tongue would be his undoing. Body arching off the bed, he tried to warn the King, but a hoarse cry burst out of his lips instead. Spilling himself down the King's throat, Bard was shocked beyond belief, torn between pleasure and gratitude and worry that he had overstepped the line once more.

All his apprehensions flew out of the window, however, when the King sat up again, his lips curling up to a pleased grin. A trail of spit and cum had dribbled down his chin, which he caught immediately with the pad of his thumb. Crawling up until they were face to face, he offered the finger with a silent order for Bard to open his mouth.

Of course, Bard was more than happy to obey, swirling his tongue like the King had done to his fingers earlier. Judging from the hungry stare directed at him, he must be really doing it well too. Then, all of a sudden, the King wrenched his hand away, grabbed a fistful of Bard's hair, and dived down for a kiss that would surely bruise in the morning. Deep and bewildering, the kiss drowned Bard, robbing him of his breath, of his senses, and of his heart. The abrupt realization dragged him back to the surface.  _'Bloody hell.'_  As if reading his mind, the King pulled back, panting, and for a second, Bard thought he saw a hint of confusion in those pale, blue eyes. He didn't get a chance to dwell on it, however. The King extracted himself with a strong push and rolled Bard to his stomach.

Breaking out in cold sweat, Bard wondered if another punishment was coming his way. Fortunately, he didn't have to wonder for long. He heard the familiar sound of the plastic bottle being popped open. Finally, he thought with a sigh of relief. His spent cock was pressed between him and the sheets, but he had no doubt it wouldn't let him down tonight, of all nights.

Without warning, fingers coated in lube plunged inside him, spreading wetness as far as they could go. Bard almost whimpered when the King withdrew them and lifted his hips up instead. Propping himself up by the elbows, Bard complied until he was on his all fours. The twisted silk bit into his wrists, but he couldn't care less about the stinging pain when the King's erection rubbed around his entrance. Against his better judgment, Bard pushed his body back, needing to feel that cock inside him, wanting the King to take him right this instant. 

"Behave yourself," growled the King, smacking Bard's arse with his open palm.

Bard groaned in response, growing more reckless by the second. He could feel everything with startling clarity, and every touch was driving him insane. He had already waited too long for this. However, a part of him was afraid the King would withhold himself again if he disobeyed his orders. With a steadying sigh, Bard forced himself to go still. 

“Much better.” The King rewarded him by slipping the head of his cock, breaching the ring of muscles keeping them apart. Bard gripped the headboard tighter, his arms and legs shaking harder than ever. Another inch slid in before the King pulled back, completely out of him. Bard wanted to tear his hair out. What he needed right now was to be stretched and filled to the brim.  _'Can't you see that? Shouldn't you know that?'_  Fighting back the urge to do something about it, he inhaled slow, deep breaths as he waited for the torture to continue. Sweat dripped down his temple as he counted the seconds until he felt the King's cock tease him again. Bard braced himself for another frustrating ride.

Smacking his arse again, the King defied his expectations and sheathed his entire length in one swift thrust.

"Oh god, yes!"

The King yanked his hair back with a mighty tug, while the other hand dug deep into his hip, keeping him in place. For a second, he considered disobeying his orders, but luckily he didn't have to. The King began fucking him in earnest, sliding in and out without holding back his strength. The wet slap of their flesh echoed around the room—filthy hot and _oh so_ _sinful_.

"You like this, don't you?" The King smacked his arse again, drawing out a loud moan. "You like being used by your King."

Almost incoherent with pleasure, Bard nodded his head vehemently. "Yes! Yes! Fuck me, my King! Fuck me!"

Their pace quickened, as if the King was racing him to the finish. Then, everything came to a sudden halt. The King pulled out of him and flipped him over to his back. Landing with a startled huff, Bard gaped at the sight before him—the King, looking just as a wrecked as he is, gleaming with perspiration and flushed pink all over.

"Don't come yet," ordered the King through gritted teeth as he rammed himself inside, over and over again, harder and faster, shoving himself as deep as he could go. The sheer force pushed Bard up the bed, his arms bending as he was pushed closer to the headboard where he still hung on for his dear life.

Every sensation, every movement was building up the fire inside Bard with such fierce intensity. The bedsprings creaked in an endless chant. Sweat from the King's forehead dripped down his middle. The scent of sex in the air grew more potent, making his head spin. "Please, my King, please!" he begged, his legs locking around the waist. "Fuck. . . 'm gonna—"

"Come for me, now!"

An intense burst of pleasure blazed through his body as soon as the permission was given. He howled as every muscle in his body pulled taut. Cum shot up all over his belly, pooling into a puddle of hot, sticky mess. Through the haze of his climax, he heard the King grunt as he raced his way to the peak. The world spun behind his eyelids, sending him careening into a different sort of twilight world than before. One where white sparks flew in the darkness, his body attuned with every jerk of his limbs, every spasm of his cock, every heaving breath demanded by his lungs.

The King draped his body over Bard, their chests pounding hard against each other's as they descended from the high. Some time later, he extended his hand up to the headboard. When the silk came loose, Bard felt a whimper escape his lips as the King slid out of him and fell to his side of the bed. An arm was thrown over his middle and before Bard could realize what was happening, the King molded their bodies together, their legs entwining helplessly. Then, he cupped Bard's face between his palms, soothing the heated cheeks with his thumbs.

Blue eyes filled with fondness stared back at him for a good minute or so. The beating in his chest stuttered as that feeling from before came back with a vengeance, stronger than ever. It had scared him earlier, but not anymore. Or not in this moment, at least. The King closed the gap between them and kissed him, his fingers moving back to tangle with his hair. Lost to the sensual caress of their tongues, Bard didn't notice the collar around his neck had been unbuckled until he saw it being tossed aside. The King kissed him once more before pulling back enough so Bard could marvel at the soft grin playing on his lips. 

 _'Thranduil is back_ ,' thought Bard, smiling in return.

"You were brilliant, Bard," Thranduil praised him, practically glowing with pride. "Now, let me take care of you." Another kiss got his chest stuttering again.

When Thranduil rolled away from him, Bard opened his mouth to protest—he wanted to stay just like this, wanted Thranduil to stay right beside him—but was quickly shushed by a finger over his lips. From the bed, his gaze followed Thranduil as the condom was tied off and dropped into a nearby trash bin. Fortunately, his lover's attention was back on him by the next breath. Gently hoisting him up with an arm around his middle, Thranduil led him to the en suite, where he found a hot bath had been drawn in the large tub. Bard melted inside, realizing what the steam had been all about.

Thranduil checked the water with his foot, steadying them with an arm braced on the wall. Satisfied, he stepped into the tub and positioned Bard between his legs. Silence enveloped them as they savored the comfortable heat lapping on their skin. Bard rested his back against the man's chest as hands trailed up and down his arms, much like they did back in the limo. His eyes grew heavy as notes of lavender tickled his nose. The next thing he knew, Thranduil had worked up a lather as his fingers sifted through the tangled mess, massaging the scalp along the process. Nearly purring from contentment, Bard hung his head low and let Thranduil work his magic on the rest of his body. After rinsing every inch of him, Thranduil peppered his back with kisses and Bard could practically feel the remaining tension drain out of him. Time passed them by without notice, and only when the water had cooled down beyond their liking did Thranduil ask Bard to wait while he got out of the tub first.

With a towel wrapped around his hips, Thranduil collected a large, fluffy towel which he held out to Bard, enclosing him in it when he rose from the tub and stepped out. Droplets of water clung to their skin, glinting in the soft lighting of the en suite. Thranduil had never looked more enchanting in his eyes. Grabbing another towel, the man wiped him dry, and even pressed the excess water out of his hair instead of rubbing them without care—a crime that Bard commits to his own on a daily basis. _'No wonder his hair's out of this world.'_

After taking care of himself, Thranduil guided him back out to the bedroom and pointed a finger at their suitcases. “May I?” 

Bard didn't understand why, but the simple question made his chest twinge. It was endearing, though a bit strange, that Thranduil felt the need to seek permission from Bard for anything now. He kept his musings to himself though. "Yeah, go ahead."

Their conversation during dinner echoed in his head while the man went through his bag. Thranduil enjoyed showing people a new side of themselves, but after everything they did tonight, Bard realized that this was not just a gift, as he had insisted from the start. It was an exchange, a mutual revelation of who they are and what they could be. Bard had met and dined with the seducer, surrendered every bit of him to the King, and now, he was being pampered and treated like he was a king himself—or maybe not necessarily an equal, but someone deserving to be heard and respected. Truth be told, Bard wasn't sure which one he liked best.

During his brief epiphany, Thranduil had found what he wanted and helped Bard into a cotton vest and boxers. He dressed himself too in a tight, black boxer briefs and nothing else. His muscles flexed enticingly as he dragged the red sheets off the bed, balled it in his hands, and dropped it to the hamper. Sure and graceful as ever, he then climbed on the bed, leaned his back against the headboard, and patted the spot in front of him.

Bard tucked himself in between his legs without question. With a soft-bristled brush, Thranduil worked the knots out of his hair, taking special care not to tug too hard. Gentle and incredibly relaxing, there was still something sensuous about having Thranduil be the one to do it. Suddenly, an idea occurred to Bard. He twisted around and held out his hand. "Can I?" It came out all hoarse and breathy, which, unexpectedly worked in his favor, judging from the way those blue eyes darkened for a bit again. 

Switching positions, Bard marveled at the strands of white gold as he ran the brush through it. He had been dying to touch it and feel it between his fingers since they first laid eyes on each other. And he was not disappointed. He could probably do this all day and not get bored. 

Sprinkled on the man's shoulders was a constellation of freckles. Given a chance, he would like to trace them with his tongue, but he settled with his fingers for now. There was so much he wanted to do, so much he wanted to talk about, but then Thranduil shifted away from his touch without looking back.

"We've got a long day tomorrow," Thranduil said gently but with an air of finality. Tucking Bard under the covers, he turned off the lights save a lamp in one corner of the room. When he returned to bed, he drew Bard close to him until they were just a breath's away from each other. "Thank you for tonight," Thranduil said, all fond and tender again. "You should be proud of yourself. You were _brilliant_."

Hot and cold, adoring and withholding, Bard couldn't help but be thrown off at every turn. Though he took comfort in the sentiment behind those words, he couldn't readily accept the high praise. "Didn't do anything. It was all you."

Furrowing his eyebrows, Thranduil shook his head. "You took everything I gave you, and you should be proud of that. You were perfect. I don't think I've ever had a better first time with someone."

Happiness bubbled in Bard's chest as his cheeks heated up. He couldn't help it. Not when those words came with such a sincere expression. "Thanks," he replied softly, meaning it in every sense of the word. Unable to hold himself back anymore, he cupped the side of Thranduil's face and pressed their lips together. It was lazy and slow and innocent, and he would have kept going for as long as Thranduil would let him, but then his own body betrayed him for one last time. All of his remaining energy seeped out of him with one huge, untimely yawn.

"Rest now," whispered Thranduil, chuckling lightly to his ear. "We'll talk in the morning."

Despite his wishes, Bard hummed in agreement as he burrowed himself deeper inside Thranduil's embrace. With the taste of their last kiss still lingering on his lips, he drifted off in seconds to dreams of blue eyes and silvery laughter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day late, but here it is! :)

When Bard woke up, everything felt a little surreal. Framed by the early morning light, an angel stood by the window, sipping tea as he gazed out in quiet contemplation. His white robe appeared to be glowing, but it was nothing compared to the luminous locks of silver blond hair loosely braided down his shoulders. His face, though beautiful with all its peaks and angles, remained impassive with just a touch of pensiveness.

Eyes still heavy with sleep, Bard squinted to get a better look at the bright image before him. His breathing hitched, however, when the angel turned and caught him staring. A tiny grin formed on the angel's lips as the curtains were drawn, blocking out the light and the rest of the world. Bard wanted to tell him to leave it be, to let him savor this small moment for a bit longer, but he only managed a rather embarrassing croak. Unperturbed, the angel glided towards him, slowly morphing back into the man who could seduce even the holiest of saints.

Grin still in place, Thranduil paused a few steps away from the bed and cocked his head to the side. "Come and join me for breakfast."

Bard tried to smile back but ended up wincing as he sat up. A slight, lingering ache on his arse reminded him that Thranduil was many things, but an angel wasn't one of them. "Yeah, sure. Lemme just. . . " He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling overly aware of himself under that watchful gaze. "I'll just sort myself out," he continued as he slipped out of the bed without waiting for a response 

Inside the en suite, Bard leaned against the door and sucked in a steadying breath. A bit rumpled from sleep, his reflection mocked him from the mirror across the room. Tousled hair, untamed scruff, and stale breath, he wouldn't let that perfect being near him when he was in this awful state. Should've set an alarm, he thought as he went about his business. Still, there was really no point in berating himself for sleeping in after last night. _'Last night. . .'_ If this morning was surreal, then last night was a total dream. Something straight out of his fantasies that only a select few had known about him. Every step he took, every flex of his muscles was laced with a stinging reminder from the King himself. A splash of cold water to his face extinguished the smoldering embers before things got out of hand. _Again_.

After a last-minute check in the mirror, Bard followed the scent of freshly brewed tea into the sitting room. Thranduil had ordered them a feast from room service—bowls of sliced fruits, a basket of bread and pastries, but not even one strip of bacon in sight. The man himself was spreading an obscene amount of marmalade on a piece of toast when Bard took the seat across him. 

Pouring tea into a cup, Bard could feel Thranduil's gaze following his every move. He stirred in three sugar cubes and took a tentative sip.

"Dark and sweet, just like you," Thranduil observed, breaking the silence with his trademark smirk.

Emboldened, Bard managed to finally smile back. "Just like how you want me?" 

"Among other things." The air crackled around them, but neither of them made another move, satisfied with just exchanging knowing glances between bites. Breakfast had never been this thrilling for Bard, and perhaps, it would never be again. The thought sobered him up in an instant, leaving a rather bitter taste on his tongue.

"Any feedback?" Thranduil asked out of the blue. Genuine curiosity gleamed in his crystal eyes. "Things may seem different the morning after."

Taking his time, Bard sipped his tea as he considered the question. "It was. . . definitely unlike anything I've ever done before. That much, I can tell you right off." He paused, picking apart the croissant with his fingers. "But, honestly, I liked all of it. If I hadn't, I would've called red."

For a second, relief flashed across Thranduil's expression. It was gone too soon, but Bard appreciated it nonetheless. "Some subs are afraid to use their safeword," Thranduil shared in a measured tone. "Too worried about disappointing their Dom."

"I see, but I was never afraid. You took me through it so well. I never felt lost or unsure about what was happening— Well, there was that time when. . ." Bard pursed his lips. "Actually, I'm not sure what happened. It got all. . . floaty in the middle."

"I knew it," Thranduil replied with a hint of a smile. "You fell into the 'subspace' when I was flogging you. It's rather hard to describe, but it's exactly why some people intentionally subject themselves to intense pain. Your brain released certain chemicals—natural painkillers, they say—and the rhythm and repetition relaxed you, coaxed your mind into slipping away. . . Something like falling into a trance-like state during hypnotism." He shook his head. "There's more to it than that, but that's the best comparison I can make. I couldn't believe it at first—that you managed it in your first scene—but then that seems to be normal for you."

"What is?"

"Surprising me. And trust me, that's not an easy thing to do." Smirking, Thranduil sat forward in his chair. "Last night, we played together like we've been doing it for years. Yes, I know what I'm doing, but for you to exhibit that level of trust? It was incredible."

"Maybe what you call 'trust' is really 'inexperience'," Bard countered, chuckling at his own expense. "I just don't know enough to be cautious."

"Stop selling yourself short, Bard," Thranduil sighed, sounding awfully exasperated all of a sudden.

Bard's stomach clenched as he dropped his gaze to the plate before him. "Uhmm. . . yeah, I do that, don't I?" He chuckled again, though it lacked any trace of humor. "I guess I'm just not used to, y'know. . ." He sneaked a glance up at Thranduil but got himself trapped by those pale blue orbs. "We're not big on praises back home," he finished lamely before tearing his gaze away and fixing it on the tiny crumbs littered on the table. A hearty sip of tea pushed the rest of his words down his throat.

"Look at me."

Holding his breath, Bard did as he was told. He didn't mean to tarnish their morning together with his hangups and insecurities. _'But I just couldn't seem to keep my mouth shut around him.'_

"I hate repeating myself, except when I feel strongly about it. I meant what I said last night. You _are_ brilliant." For a moment, Thranduil appeared to be channeling the King again, but at this point, Bard believed he could recognize the subtle differences. _'If only we had more time, then I'd know for sure.'_

Thranduil's expression softened as he continued, "You may not be some legendary dragonslayer—" Bard quirked up his eyebrows at the reference while the beating in his chest stuttered once more; Thranduil had indeed listened _and_ remembered. "—but those people are fortunate to have known you for far longer than I do."

Last night, Bard had discovered he had a taste for Thranduil's brand of pleasure and pain. Now, he knew it's not as simple as that. Everything about this man was addicting as hell.  Thranduil was not just some fantasy wrapped in a tight suit. He was more than a pair of crystal blue eyes and perfect blond hair. Sure, Bard could never forget how he had drowned himself in those colors last night, how he had surrendered everything just to experience that rush over and over again. It would have been—should have been—a simple hookup. Casual and hot, yet _oh so_ fleeting. But then, Thranduil got the nerve to show Bard what he had been missing in his life, to say things that shouldn't be said lest he wanted to ruin every lover Bard might have after him. _'What an inconsiderate jerk.'_

Except he wasn't. Not when they first met. Not when they fell into bed last night. Not when they spoke of their brief time together. This could all just become memories Bard would keep with him, something to warm him up during the coldest of nights, but with each passing second, Thranduil was shaping up to be the kind of heartbreak that hurts the most. Haunting and beautiful, how could have Bard not see this coming?

After breakfast, Thranduil—oblivious to the turmoil his words and actions had caused—let Bard have the shower while he packed up a smaller bag with the things he would be needing for his demonstration later. Bard decided to go in and out as fast as he could, since his hair had been washed for him last night. The memory brought a rush of heat with it, adding another layer to his already troubled mind. He had never had someone do that before. . . _'I have to get out of here.'_

Thranduil entered the en suite just as he was stepping out of the stall. Gloriously naked again, he winked at Bard as he turned the shower back on. Getting out of his way, Bard grabbed a towel and, without looking back, sought refuge in the bedroom—taking extra care not to trip over his own foot in his haste. _'Shower sex, just what my poor heart needs right now.'_  

Things became even more stifling when they finished getting dressed. Bard zipped up his suitcase, a sense of finality following the sound. He looked over at Thranduil, who was standing in front of the mirror, smoothing down his hair with those talented hands of his. He was wearing a tailored black suit today, no tie. A couple of buttons were undone at the top of his dark purple dress shirt, and his leather shoes screamed Italian. Bard glanced down at himself, at the bland beige suit, off-white dress shirt, striped navy blue tie, and sensible leather shoes—his go-to outfit for any business convention. Looking at the two of them, dressed, ready to go and face the day, he almost couldn't believe that everything had happened only a handful of hours ago.

"When are you leaving the city?" Bard asked, blurting out the question before his mind had caught up with his mouth.

"Tomorrow," Thranduil answered, fixing his gaze at Bard's reflection on the mirror. "You?"

"Same." Bard shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain where to go from here. Despite the voice inside his head urging him to say goodbye and leave, he wanted to tell Thranduil how much their time together had meant to him. He was just not sure if he could articulate it properly. Eyes cast down the carpeted floor, he mumbled, "Last night was. . . more than I could've ever hoped for." 

Crossing the room, Thranduil stood before Bard and tucked his hands inside the pockets of his trousers. Without meaning to, Bard leaned towards him, stopping only when he got a whiff of the musky aftershave. _'Stop it.'_ Still, he was close enough to feel Thranduil's breath fanning down his face when the man spoke again.  

"I wish we had more time together," Thranduil almost whispered, echoing Bard's thoughts from earlier.

Head spinning from the intoxicating scent, Bard felt himself giving in to his impulse. If Thranduil would ask him, right there and then, to come back and stay the night again, he would take the plunge without much thought about the well-being of his heart.

_But Thranduil didn't._

He took a step back and offered his hand to Bard, probably for the last time ever. "Let me walk you downstairs."

The ride down the elevator was pretty uneventful except for the way Thranduil was practically squeezing Bard's hand in his. His face was an inscrutable mask, however, sending mixed signals yet again. Outside, Thranduil opened the taxi door as Bard gave the name of his hotel to the driver. Turning towards each other again, Thranduil picked a lint off Bard's suit. "There, better."

"Thank you," Bard said, hoping the man could not hear the hammering inside his chest, "for everything."

Nodding his head, Thranduil offered him a tiny, knowing grin. "It's been a pleasure having you, Bard." 

_'Ah, fuck it.'_

Bard yanked Thranduil forward by the nape and poured everything he didn't get to say into the kiss. It could be their last one ever for all he knew, so he tried his hardest to leave a lasting impression, only parting from Thranduil when his lips felt swollen and bruised—a fitting souvenir, if there ever was one. Warm breaths mingling in the late winter morning, they pressed their foreheads together, eyes shut, and ignored the rest of the world for just a little bit more.

As the taxi took off, Bard looked back and saw Thranduil's arm raised in farewell. He waved his hand in return, and though his heart hung heavy as he did so, a niggling thought was forming at the back of his mind. 

_'Maybe, just maybe. . . '_


	6. Chapter 6

Bard had always considered business conventions as a necessary evil for the good of their company. Stuffy and pretentious, there was no love lost between him and the same old crowd that flock here long before Girion had first asked Bard to go in his stead. Something about sciatic pains—his grandfather's excuse for almost any banal event he would rather skip at the time. And though no one had the heart to call him out for it, Bard could see right through his bullshit. After all, they were more similar than either of them would care to admit to anyone, even to each other.

Moving on autopilot, Bard shook hands, forced out one polite grin after another, and exchanged business cards whenever someone would ask. Things still didn't pick up by lunch. The conversations around the table were as delightful as the chunk of leather on his plate, masquerading as a steak of some kind. In the afternoon, he tried to listen to the speakers, but his mind drifted away no matter how hard he focused on the material. The image of crystal blue eyes, crinkling at the corners, kept tantalizing the edges of his thoughts. The memory of that smooth voice—low in command, soft in praise—sent goosebumps along his arms up to the back of his neck. Near the end of the presentation, a flash of long, silver blond hair disappearing into the halls caught his attention. His gaze chased after it, almost unseating himself in the process. For a second, he thought Thranduil had come for him, and maybe— Another flash of that fair-haired spectre thrilled every nerve in his body, _and yet_ , it turned out to be nothing but a case of wishful thinking. Odd looks were being thrown his way; some appeared to be concerned, even. Ears heating up in mortification, he excused himself and avoided their stares on his way to the loo.

Locked inside a stall, Bard slapped his cheeks as he tried to even out his breathing. _'Stop being silly!'_  Thranduil wouldn't come here. Bard himself didn't want to be here in the first place. He knew where he wanted to be, but it wasn't going to happen. Yes, he had thought about it, but what's the point? After tomorrow, they would not be seeing each other again anyway. And Thranduil didn't ask for his number; Bard forgot to ask when he had the chance. _'Maybe that's all we're gonna be. Ships in the night and all that nonsense about serendipity.'_  Inviting himself back to that hotel was out of the question, too. It would be horribly embarrassing, and though he had discovered how much he enjoyed being dominated, he still had his pride. There was also the possibility that Thranduil had found someone else 'fascinating' during his demonstration and— Bard sighed. _'Better to leave it as it is. . .'_ A perfect night, untainted and unforgettable.

Even with that resolve, a hollow feeling spread out in his chest upon entering his hotel room that evening. What a difference a day had made. It was no suite, but it was practical, just like all the other rooms he had booked for himself during trips like this. There was really nothing out of order, except the bed somehow felt cold and enormous. Nothing on the telly could distract him from diving down the rabbit hole he had dug for himself the moment he accepted Thranduil's invitation. Then again, how could he have known at the time?

Right now, the prospect of returning home the next day, to the same monotonous life he had, was a kick to the gut. There wasn't anything wrong with his life, to be fair. It was just so. . . bland. A cuppa in the morning. Power through the daily grind. Maybe have a drink at the pub with some friends or go out on dates whenever his grandfather nagged him too much about being alone. It was the sort of thing everyone did. _'But after last night_  . .' It would be like returning to Kansas after seeing the brilliant colors of Oz.

The next morning, Bard tried to shake off the morose stupor clinging on his back as he checked out of the hotel. He had a fairly sleepless night, drifting off fitfully sometime after two. He had dreamt of Thranduil again, and for a second, when he woke up, he thought he was back in the suite. Then, he turned his head to where Thranduil would be—should be—only to discover that it was just his heart yearning for the illusion to be true.

As he stepped out into another cold winter morning, a portly man rushed towards him and greeted him by name. Startled, his mind raced, trying to place where they had met before. And then, it clicked. _'No way.'_

From the limo behind the man, a familiar voice carried out of the window. "Need a ride?" It's the same timbre that had haunted him, the same steady tone that warranted no argument from him. Bard followed the sound, and _there he was._ Blue eyes stared back, wide and questioning, but when Bard felt his lips tug up at the corners, Thranduil's expression lightened up.

Heart thudding inside his chest, Bard nodded and before he knew it, the driver had ushered him inside and took care of his suitcase. Thranduil sat still on his spot though his eyes remained fixed on Bard. It was unnerving, to be honest, but definitely not unwelcome. 

"Hope I didn't make you wait too long," Bard mumbled, noting the way Thranduil went more rigid if that was even possible. And this was the problem between them, he realized. _'I think too much about every little thing he does, but everything he does confuses the hell out of me.'_ Talking. Talking would be good right now. They couldn't part ways again like they did yesterday. They _just_ couldn't. "Why are you here?" he asked, echoing Thranduil's words when they first met.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you." Thranduil had always gone for what he wanted—Bard learned that in their short time together—and yet the man's candidness still left him speechless. Undeterred by the lack of reaction, Thranduil continued, "We made a connection, I felt it. I hope you did, too. It was especially apparent when you left." He sighed, and the ensuing silence was filled with the gentle purr of the limo. "I missed you. I could barely concentrate during my demonstrations. There would be comments from the sponsors, I'm sure, but I couldn't care less. You were all I could think about." He reached towards Bard, and they clasped hands like it's the most natural thing for them to do. "I can't let you slip through my fingers again without trying to keep you." Pausing, Thranduil squeezed their hands tighter. "Come with me."

"What?" From the window, the world kept moving past them, but time stood still for Bard. "You mean. . ." He couldn't finish the sentence, scared that he heard it wrong and yet scared too that he got it all right.

Thranduil's gaze was captivating with just a touch of vulnerability. "For years, I've learned how to control myself. Feel as little as possible or nothing at all. But now, I look at you, and I feel. . . _too much_." His features twisted in frustration but still he went on, "Like everything I had bottled up has bursted out, and I can't make it stop. I tried, I really did, but I feel too much." His words were now coming out like a hiss, sharp enough to pierce through the haze clouding Bard's mind. "I don't know what else to do."

Bard reminded himself that unspoken emotions did not mean they were unfelt. He stared at their locked hands and _breathed_. For the longest time, he never understood why he always felt the need to talk himself out of going after the things he wanted. Now, he knew it's because he was afraid of being hurt if he risked his neck. Thranduil was afraid, too—Bard could tell—but their differences spoke volumes more than ever. Thranduil was brave enough to take off the mask and bare himself, consequences be damned. On the other hand, Bard stalled and lamented and ultimately did _nothing,_ even when he had the chance to do otherwise. He was tired of hiding behind his excuses. He could not keep looking from afar. Years from now, he wanted to be able to say that he had chosen how to live his life, that he didn't just settle for the next best thing.

_'Because, so far, Thranduil is the best thing that has happened to me.'_

His silence didn't go unnoticed, however. Mistaking it for indecision, Thranduil stroked the back of Bard's hand with his thumb. "Come with me. It's mad, I know, but the possibilities are too incredible for me not to try. What do you think, Bard? You could stay where you are. Fill your life with work and food and sleep. Or we could go. . . _anywhere_." 

"Okay." It came out rather hoarse, so Bard cleared his throat and tried again. "I'll come with you."

A half-smile bloomed on Thranduil's face. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I don't have the details worked out, but yeah." Bard chuckled lightly, the giddiness welling out of his chest.

Thranduil's smile widened. "Don't worry about your plane ticket. I've called in a favor while waiting for you, and there's a seat with your name on it as we speak."

"Wait, what?" Bard sat tight for the punchline, but apparently, Thranduil was being serious. "I _can't_ go with you right now."

"But you said yes." 

"How did you even know I'd say yes?"

"I didn't," Thranduil replied. "I just hoped you would."

Bard's jaw dropped, torn between incredulity and awe. "You're _unbelievable_."

Thranduil smirked, evidently taking it as a compliment.

"But I still can't." 

The smirk flattened down to a hard line. "I don't understand."

Bard bit his bottom lip as tension rolled off his shoulders. "Look, I can't just leave my family like that. And it may not be much, but I _did_ have a life before you." He felt Thranduil's hand slacken in his, but it only made him tighten his own grip. "I want to do this the right way. I don't want us to be each other's mistake, okay? We're doing this right." He searched for an agreement in Thranduil's eyes, willing the man to understand his point.

"How long?"

"I dunno, but I want this. I want us to happen." Bard took in a steadying breath and steeled his resolve. "One month. I'd settle everything no matter what."

"One month," Thranduil repeated. The lump in his throat bobbed up and down as he appeared to consider Bard's ultimatum. "It wouldn't be you, I suppose. I said it before, and I'm saying it again, they're _incredibly lucky_ to have you." Fondness laced his words, and Bard wanted to kiss the living daylights out of him right there and then. Thranduil wasn't done, however. "But I'm spiriting you away in one month's time." Reassured once more, his lips formed back into a smirk. "I'm patient. I can wait."

Relieved, Bard chuckled though it quickly tapered to a sigh. "Well, they might say I'm running away, but I don't think of it that way. Yes, I wanna be selfish for once, but it's not like I'm running away from them. I'd be chasing after something new, something I want _just_ for myself."

The smirk transformed into a wistful smile. "Trust me, you can't keep living your life for the sake of others."

There must be a story behind such a poignant remark, but Bard let it pass for now. They would have all the time to get to know each other soon enough, so he just nodded his head in understanding. The thing was, he did not know what Thranduil would do with his trust from hereafter. But then again, he had trusted The King with his body, so what else was keeping him from trusting Thranduil with his heart? As a sign of good faith, he cupped Thranduil's cheek in his free hand and closed the gap between them. When their lips grazed, he felt Thranduil curl an arm around him, pulling him until their bodies molded against each other's. His hand trailed up the jaw and into the lovely golden crown of hair, weaving the soft strands between his fingers. Nipping and tugging, they moved in sync as if lost in a soft, sensual dance. Their tongues met, caressed, and explored the depths of their eager mouths. _'This. I want this and more. So much more.'_ When he pulled back for air, Bard gazed into Thranduil's eyes—darkened like the night sky—as a promise passed between them. They still had a lot to talk about, but right now, _this_ was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know there's more to tell about this story, but I have always meant to end it at this point. However, if you're interested in reading what's next for these two, then I'd be more than happy to write the next part. Got an outline for it, but nothing definite right now. If not, then I'd be moving on to my next AU fic. I have dropped a hint somewhere in this chapter about its plot; see if you could find it ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are both welcome and much appreciated. 
> 
> Writing prompts or fic requests? Please share them below or leave an ask in Tumblr: [JennaSaisQuoi](https://jennasaisqu0i.tumblr.com) or [ScarletTyler](https://scarlet-tyler.tumblr.com)


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